


your leatherette eyes

by hunted



Series: Trans Marcus Bell [2]
Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Canon Character of Color, Consensual Somnophilia, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Lingerie, Love, Lube, M/M, Not Beta Read, Oral Sex, Original Trans Male Character(s) - Freeform, Phalloplasty, Post-Op Trans Male Character, Romance, Rough Sex, Sleepiness, Sleepy Sex, Submission, Teasing, Top Marcus Bell, Top Trans Male Character, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Male Character of Color, sorta?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-12-01 19:36:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20876615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunted/pseuds/hunted
Summary: Marcus continued to push forward, cursing quietly, praising the grip of Sherlock’s body with colourful and explicit language that would’ve made Joan blush. This was a side of Marcus that nobody else saw, a hunger that was only revealed in these moments, a thirst quenched by Sherlock’s subservience. He filled his lover slowly, the beautiful body beneath him trembling, his cock all but pulled inward by the flexing of muscles that tugged Sherlock’s stomach taut....A continuation of my trans!Marcus series, this time featuring Marcus with a Phalloplasty penis. Titles taken from Skin Vision by IAMX.





	your leatherette eyes

**Author's Note:**

> When I was pre-transition (and so deep in the closet I had found Narnia), I wrote a fic about trans!Marcus, and it really helped me confront my own masculinity and desire to transition. Now that I’m a man, and no longer in that space of confused gender-ambiguity, I decided to revisit my trans!Marcus headcanon! I’ve really embraced what it means to be a trans male, so it’ll be more readable, I reckon ;-)
> 
> I was also inspired by [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PML2d4tHNlo) upcoming film, about FTM bodybuilders! It’s so inspirational to see men (of all ethnicities and backgrounds) who look so fucking fantastic and muscular! Young trans boys are definitely awesome, but as a grown adult I’m more inspired by older guys, and men that have really owned their manliness into adulthood.
> 
> For a visual representation of how Marcus’ cock works, see [this NSFW video](https://www.xtube.com/video-watch/getting-hard-12303371) of a trans man’s penis. Squeezing the testicles stimulates an internal pump, which results in an erection. Trans men who have this kind of penis can stay erect for as long as they like, until they deflate the internal pump by squeezing the shaft of their penis. Lots of opportunities for dominant trans men!!
> 
> If you like the way I write Sherlock and Marcus, check out my series [Terms of Submission](https://archiveofourown.org/series/630929). Marcus is cis in that series but their dynamic is much the same.

Bare bulbs cast a dim glow on the gym, warming the bare concrete below and throwing faces into stark shadow. A boxing ring was set up in the middle of the space, two fighters circling each other, gloved hands held high, knees bent as their trainers counselled them through the mock-fight. The walls were sparsely decorated, old posters and scribbled exercise routines accompanied by graffiti and dented plaster. A rack of barbells was stationed along the far wall, past the ring, scratched mirrors framing weightlifters as they grunted through their workouts. There was no air conditioning, no fancy technology, no newfangled exercise machines. The space was hot with humidity and exertion, stinking of body odour, populated by at least a dozen sweat-slick bodies pumping iron and gulping water. Energetic rap music kept the tempo of the gym upbeat.

Marcus could’ve gone to any other gym, one with perks and shiny white walls. But something about this place appealed to him.

He took his weights in hand, wrists held steady and strong, fingers curled around metal. He lowered himself onto the bench, leaning back on an angle. His arms extended towards the ceiling, lifting the barbells in a smooth motion. He watched his biceps coil and tighten, beads of sweat travelling down his dark skin.

He felt fucking good here. He loved being a man, and he loved being among men.

His spotter, a white dude named Dale, had huge shoulders and a stony face, and worked as a bodyguard most weekdays. He was favoured by employers because of his towering height. His numerous tattoos and grim demeanour masked a friendliness beyond anything Marcus had ever known, and the guy volunteered with a de-radicalisation group that helped men escape gangs. He had an advantage that social workers with suits and bleeding hearts could never obtain; he looked like a skinhead on steroids, so offenders took him seriously. He used that power for good.

“Lookin’ good, Bell,” Dale muttered, nodding with restrained approval, “Six more reps, you got this.”

“Aw,” Marcus huffed, “Ain’t you cute.”

Dale didn’t smile, but his eyes softened.

***

As was customary, they got a coffee once they were done working out. Black and two sugars for Marcus, cream and one sugar for Dale. They sat outside the café, Dale squashing himself down into a too-small chair, legs folded up under the table, his size and height generally making life difficult. Marcus, by comparison, was shorter than most men. He knew a lot of guys avoided befriending Dale because they were insecure about the comparison, but Marcus couldn’t have given less of a fuck. He knew he was a man, and a fucking strong one at that. Transitioning had proved his mettle.

“Good session today, Bell,” Dale told him, favouring Marcus’ last name though they’d been friends for years, “You’re lookin’ good.”

“You too, as always. You got a girl yet?”

Dale sighed, rubbing a hand over his close-cropped buzzcut, hair scratching against the coarse skin of his palm.

“Nah,” he admitted, a note of sadness in his gruff voice, “Most ladies… They’re scared off. By the tattoos and stuff, y’know. I’m a big fella. Got a record.”

Marcus grinned sympathetically. “Sorry, man.”

“I treat ‘em real nice, too. Dinner, maybe a movie, buy flowers, openin’ doors for ‘em and all…” Dale sounded wistful, “I’d love a woman I could take care of, y’know?”

“Yeah, Dale. I know.” Marcus found his friend’s passion endearing, and his reply wasn’t sarcastic. Dale was a hopeless romantic trapped in the shell of a violent offender. His scary appearance didn’t do his true self justice.

“Oh, well. I’ll get married someday. Plenty of fish in the sea, eh?”

“For sure. For sure.”

“You still seein’ your man?”

“Yeah,” Marcus tapped on the side of his coffee cup, unable to keep from smiling, “Sherlock.”

“Funny name, that,” Dale remarked, not for the first time.

“Well, he’s a funny guy.”

“Look at you, fuckin’ lovestruck motherfucker.”

“Shut up.” Marcus had another sip of his coffee, just so that he could hide his smile.

“Got me jealous, Bell. You’re one lucky bastard.”

“Dunno whether I’d call it luck,” Marcus remarked dryly, “Took a lot more than luck to get here.”

“A hardworking lucky bastard, then.”

“Yeah,” Marcus conceded, “That’s fair.”

Dale was one of the few who knew that Marcus was trans. He was low disclosure in all aspects of life, and the only reason that Dale knew was because he’d first encountered Marcus at a support group for stealth men. They really didn’t talk about transitioning. It was enough to be around someone who just _understood._

***

Marcus walked back to the brownstone, gym bag slung over his shoulder, body aching from exertion. He felt fucking good. He was _inhabiting _his body now, and for the first time in his life, he could look back on the past couple of years and not feel a sense of immense sadness. He’d been riding this high for so long. Being a man was his heaven. No matter what life threw at him, if he had the privilege of facing every challenge as his true self, he would always thrive. He had so much to live for.

With his keys in one hand, Marcus approached the brownstone’s front door. He let himself in and went straight upstairs, intending to dump his gym bag and then shower.

What greeted him, however, immediately derailed that plan.

Sherlock was reclined on their bed, hands limply curled by his sides, head tilted to the side in sleep. His eyes were closed, chest rising and falling steadily. The flat of his torso tapered down into a cleanly-shaven navel, a line of black lace drawn across his tanned skin. The underwear was sheer and pretty, at odds with the muscular presence of his body and his overall demeanour. Black silk cupped his cock, framed by a dainty little bow and lacy patterns. On the bedside table were a cluster of unlit candles and a box of matches. Beside the bed rested a pair of black high heels, shined to perfection, which Sherlock had clearly intended to wear.

He’d planned a romantic encounter. Dressed up for Marcus. Then fallen asleep while waiting for him to come home.

Marcus gawked at him, open-mouthed, for a long moment. He was utterly speechless. The lingerie enhanced Sherlock’s fit body, wrapping securely around the contours of his form. Somehow, the presence of Sherlock’s tattoos didn’t detract from the silken panties; in fact, the comparison turned Marcus on, and he delighted in the combination of femininity and masculinity. To see Sherlock dressed up like this, shaved bare, making an effort to be romantic despite how unfamiliar such overtures were to him… Fuck. Marcus was _smitten._

He lowered his gym bag to the floor. Moving as quietly as he could, he pulled off his shirt, and undid the knot keeping his shorts tight. He undressed quickly and silently, heat boiling in his stomach, aroused beyond description.

***

The fog of sleep faded from Sherlock’s mind, an abstract dream vanishing into the depths of his memory, leaving only murmurs of sensations behind. He could feel kisses ghosting over his body, shivers of sensation that made him groan quietly as he blinked himself awake, a hot mouth against the front of his lingerie. His cock, trapped by moist silk, was hardening and lengthening. When his eyelids fluttered open and he lifted his head up off the pillow, he saw Marcus’ face ducked down between his legs, mouth wide open against his underwear. Marcus was sucking him off through soft fabric.

“I see you’ve arrived home,” Sherlock slurred sleepily. Marcus looked up at him, craning his head upward, gazing across his body with a cheeky grin.

“I see you planned somethin' special.”

“I did…” Sherlock lay back, eyes falling closed, spreading his legs wider. He reached down, curling his hand against Marcus’ scalp, gripping him gently. “Our cases have been causing us both a great deal of stress, of late. I wanted to make it up to you. Apparently I was more tired than I… expected…”

His words were edged with breathlessness, his hips arching toward the pressure of Marcus’ mouth, seeking more. He sighed, chin tilting up toward the ceiling, a groan rumbling through his chest. Marcus had clearly just returned from the gym, the heady spice of his sweat wafting through the air, turning Sherlock on even more. There was a kind of unbridled masculinity about the detective that Sherlock adored. He wanted to be dominated by it. Subdued.

Marcus hooked his fingers around the flimsy waistband of Sherlock’s lingerie, tugging the underwear down, past Sherlock’s thighs and off his legs. Sherlock swallowed down a whimper at the sensation of his damp cock being exposed to the air. He wasn’t quite awake yet, the haze of sleep still lingering in his muddled mind. This was his favourite kind of sex. The kind where he was pliant and helpless, so willingly submissive for his lover.

“Turn over.”

Marcus’ words were curt and left no room for discussion. Sherlock fumbled to do as he was told, limbs heavy with tiredness, gracelessly flopping onto his front. Marcus took hold of his thighs, pulled them further apart, exposing him so intimately. Sherlock gripped the pillow, burying his face when Marcus ran his fingers across the smooth curve of Sherlock’s bared back, following the shape of him downward, toward a place nobody else was allowed to touch.

“Got yourself ready for me,” Marcus mused, the pads of his fingers rubbing against delicate pinkish whorls, Sherlock’s skin shaved bare and moist with lubricant. He was soft as a dove, flavoured by the scent of lavender from luxurious soap, clean and pretty. It made him all the more ecstatic when Marcus bowed over him, the length of his muscular body pressed up against Sherlock’s back, the musk of him pungent, a rigid and sweaty cock rubbing against Sherlock’s arse.

“Mm… You’re so amazin’…” Marcus hummed the words against Sherlock’s neck, teeth dragging against his skin, biting him softly. “All dressed up for me, so sexy baby...”

“Says you,” Sherlock murmured into the pillow, “You exhibit a physique far superior to my own.”

Marcus exhaled heavily, a laugh that was almost a growl. He took the base of his cock in hand, aligning himself and pressing forward, a blunt pressure against the entrance to Sherlock’s body. Sherlock let out a shivering sigh, melting into the bed, pinned in place. They were still for a long moment, so aware of each other’s presence, intimate in ways that went beyond sex.

Marcus inched his his forward, pushing inside. Sherlock whined, forehead creasing with a pained frown, but it wasn’t an expression of unwillingness.

“You okay?”

Sherlock nodded. “Yes. Yes.”

Marcus continued to push forward, cursing quietly, praising the grip of Sherlock’s body with colourful and explicit language that would’ve made Joan blush. This was a side of Marcus that nobody else saw, a hunger that was only revealed in these moments, a thirst quenched by Sherlock’s subservience. He filled his lover slowly, the beautiful body beneath him trembling, his cock all but pulled inward by the flexing of muscles that tugged Sherlock’s stomach taut.

By the time he was completely engulfed by Sherlock’s warmth, the genius consultant was flushed and shameless, panting like a dog, his legacy of apathetic intelligence eons away from this bedroom. Here, he was just a man, a paramour of carnal delights once so inconceivable. Marcus’ balls were pressed against his arse, the masculinity of the man fucking him so wonderfully evident. He’d always loved Marcus’ body, even before the two years of surgeries which had changed his partner’s life, and had never been in any doubt of the detective’s manhood– but this truly was different to before, confidence and erotic power buoying the very essence of Marcus Bell’s soul.

“You feel so good,” Marcus groaned, “Christ, babe…”

He spread his hands against Sherlock’s arse, groping him eagerly. Sherlock loved it. He felt filthy, degraded, worshipped.

“You like this? You like me inside you?”

Sherlock laughed, exasperated and aroused beyond description. “You know I do.”

Marcus pulled out slowly, a sensation that made Sherlock shudder. Then he thrust inward again, a little faster now, settling fully inside his lover. Sherlock was dripping against the sheets, his cock pink and aching, begging to be touched. He hadn’t been ordered to restrain himself, but he did anyway. It was something he enjoyed. He wanted a good deep fucking, and he wanted to lose all control.

The next thrust was harder, faster, more brutal. A hush of air escaped Sherlock’s lips, followed by a gasp and a shudder, accompanied by Marcus’ growling breaths.

The fucking began in earnest.

Marcus curled his hand around Sherlock’s jaw, turning his face to the side, seeking out his mouth. He crushed their lips together, a wild kiss, broken by moans and rasping breaths. He lay heavy against the taller man, hips working furiously, buried to the hilt. The bed quaked to the pace he was setting, creaking loudly, the headboard banging against the wall. If Joan was home, she would surely know what they were doing, not that it would be the first time.

Small noises broke Sherlock’s composure, a litany of _uh, uh, uh, _answering Marcus’ every movement. He was rosy-cheeked and helpless, this romantic encounter not going quite the way he had planned, but turning out perfectly nonetheless.

“Feels so good, feels so good,” Marcus told him, “Feels so good inside you, love that I can feel this now,”

“Yes, Marcus, _yes…”_


End file.
